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Image for the poem Becoming > Homecoming

Becoming > Homecoming

They came at night
Out of the flesh
Out of the wound
Out of moon ribs,
Creeping into sleeping mouths.

Sepal slats
Became slut to survival,
Stormírush thru fragile glass
Would blind the
Hallowed protection.

Underneath ascents of flesh
Skinned alive by instinct,
One thousand trees
May resemble a mountain
Viewed from behind waterfall scree.

Slow encroachment,
Sundawn, path across water
To the forgiving darkness.
Perhaps, we are the
Only tribe on a hill,
A glance, dust on wing:
Handful of a nation, but
This is our country.

Lovetideís in flood,
There is no reservoir
We havenít known.
Shelled oyster ocean
Speared rain ruins
With rustic pitch fork;
Whales find home, rolling in
Waves of frequency.

We see the axe head in riverís silver.
Your sex is wet within me.
Strangeways_Rob
Written by Strangeways_Rob
Published
Author's Note
# ERULGCT 38. Umanoid xx Bit of a 'brainstorm' watching some drivel on TV. It could the way to scribble. ALL STAY SAFE.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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